Game:Pick Up the Phone Booth and Aisle/xme

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Well, you can examine yourself- I don't imagine anyone else would want to:

Sad, wheezing and lonely, you are the paragon of late middle-age, with the bulge of your stomach- which seems only yesterday to have been a washboard- spilling over the edges of your trousers like the top of a muffin, and the pallid shine of your bald, bald scalp peeking through your pathetic comb-over, mocking your own sense of social and physical impotence. Your broken-veined face is ruddy and glistening with sweat from the exertion of just walking a few feet, and your weak little lungs puff away, reminding you of everything you've let yourself become incapable of. Looking back on the pointless, monotonous years in which you have merely gone through the motions of living- never enjoying yourself and barely even feeling sad, being so numbed by a life of disappointment- you know that in a world so bleak and bare of emotion for little, bitter people like you there is no reason for going on, and that breathing has merely become a habit. Your promise as a person is spent, and you've done nothing worthwhile with your life. The likelihood is that no-one will come to your funeral, but if that weren't so you wouldn't be at this point. Without even crying, not even with some sort of grim resolve, you empty the bottle of paracetamol you've just bought into your mouth, sit on the floor, and wait as the light fades forever. No-one even tries to stop you. A final twinge of regret grips you in the last moment, but not for this last act- rather for a whole life misspent.

*** You've died, wondering what the punchline's going to be ***

But wait...

You feel a tremendous wrench – the hand of God coming down to wipe clean the temporal chalkboard. The world dissolves, and then quickly floods back into existence, restoring its state as it was before you made your move.

But somehow, things aren't set up exactly the same as last time....

Pick Up the Phone Booth and Aisle/xme

left

Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly colored aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few meters ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.